


A Strange Stillness

by EKthered



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I didn't intend it as, IgNoct, but if you want to see that it's cool, vague end game spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKthered/pseuds/EKthered
Summary: They've been on the road for a month or so when Ignis notes Noct acting somewhat strangely. He tries to puzzle it out. Puzzling is what he does best.Vague spoilers for endgame, but spoilers nonetheless.





	

A Strange Stillness

 

 

The first strange thing was the dawn.

Ignis was up early, as he usually was in the mornings. He sat on the tiny porch of their hotel room, the cool breeze wafting over the river and into Lestallum. The accommodations were a breath of fresh air to their tiny squad – soft beds, hot shower, and, Ignis’s personal favorite, the in-room coffee maker, burbling away. He’d already made a pot and lavished the first sip from the ceramic mug, it’s steam tickling his nose.

“Good morning.”

Ignis blanched, nearly dropping the beverage.

Noctis was watching him, blue eyes coherent and intense.

“Your highness,” the strategist tried to cover his surprise. “Are you alright?”

Noctis hesitated, gaze turning inward for a moment.

“… Yeah.”

The prince sat beside his advisor, their bare feet pointed to the water as they watched the dawn brighten the sky. Ignis waited for an explanation – the prince of Lucis simply didn’t wake up early for no reason. But after ten minutes, no conversation was forthcoming. Noct seemed perfectly content to float in his own thoughts, hands clasped loosely in his lap. The sun peaked over the horizon and reflected against the waves. The prince watched it with rapt attention as a small smile graced his lips.

“Beautiful.”

 

 

The second strange thing was the car.

They left Lestallum that morning and planned on heading west into the wetlands. Ignis tapped the coordinates into the GPS and opened the driver door.

Noct took his arm.

“I’d like to drive. Is that alright?”

“Uhm, of course.”

He moved around to the passenger side and they all piled in the Regalia. Noctis paused as he gripped the wheel, his thumbs rubbing the texture. Reverence. Ignis realized it was reverence. Noct’s gaze flickered to his own and he cleared his throat, all business as he started the engine.

The sun followed them through the morning but left them into the afternoon as clouds spread across the sky. They lowered the car’s top just as the first splatters of rain fled the heavens. They expected Noct to want to shift out, let someone drive but he remained in command, seemingly content, quiet and attentive to the road. Ignis normally felt ill at ease when he wasn’t in control of the Regalia, but was astonished to find himself relaxing, spine curving in to the seat as he watched the landscape slide by.

There was a stillness to the car. The stillness was coming from Noct himself, Ignis realized. The prince was simply… still. Observant. Not complaining.

Enjoying the simplicity of the drive.

Gladio had the map unfolded in the back seat. Tapping it with his finger, he pondered their options.

“Noct, we’re gonna be close to the Vesperpool.” He looked up. “We could camp there after finishing today’s hunt, and fish tomorrow morning if you want.”

“Fish?” Noct blinked. “Yeah. Yeah that would be awesome.” He took a deep breath. “Fishing. Right.”

 

 

The third strange thing was the hunt itself.

They were after a herd of Spiralcorns gone mad with sickness. The old cook had described them as “Red in the eyes and mouth.” It was a hell of a drive to get to the bastards, but the reward would line their pockets for a week, so they’d dedicated a few days.

Arriving in late afternoon, they’d parked by the campsite and set up the tent ahead of time, the rain making the task miserable. Soaked to the bone but shelter ready for nightfall, the troop called their chocobos and made for the hunting grounds. Noctis usually preferred to lead the charge, his ash-grey chocobo, Albert, chirping as they raced.

But not today. Ignis slowed his own bird to match Noct’s own pace. He lagged behind, his hands sunk deep into the bird’s neck.

“Doing alright?” he called to the prince.

“Yep,” Noctis replied, pulling out of his reverie and picking up speed with the rest of them.

They sloshed the last leg of the way on foot. The low rumblings of thunder and pounding of rain seemed to mask their presence until they were right on the beasts. Even in the low light they could see the unhealthy tinge of red to the creatures, their mouths foaming with disease.

“Time to kill stuff?” Prompto asked. His hair was drenched, a mop of blond over his eyes.

“Let’s get this over with,” Gladio grumbled, summoning his greatsword with a shower of light. He charged ahead.

Ignis watched Noct summon his own weapon. He was surprised when the prince also summoned his greatsword, and uncommon choice for the Lucis. Noct lifted the blade perpendicular to the ground and warped, vanishing and reappearing a hundred meters away, the steel bouncing into the bony ribs of a spiralcorn.  

And then it was the heat of battle, heart pounding, blood rushing through chilled limbs bringing new life and warmth. Prompto yelped, a hoof catching him in the leg and he tumbled to the ground. Ignis tightened his grip on his blades and defended him. He felt their steel bite deep into one of the equine’s flanks and it roared at him, twisting away.

“I’m ok!” Prompto hollered, flicking his head and slicking his hair away from his eyes as got to his feet. “Thanks man!”

The creature was enraged, now. It bellowed, a scratchy wet sound that sprayed bloody spittle through it’s teeth. It charged at them.

Ignis had planned on a sidestep dodge and counter attack. But his foot slipped, slick in the mud and he lost his footing, defending arm going down to support his weight. He scrambled on all fours to evade it’s attack but took a hit to his shoulder and was thrown aside from the force of it. For a moment he saw stars, and then only blurry light, and he realized his glasses had come off in the fray.

“Shit,” he moaned, squinting, trying to spot them. There they were – just a few feet away, blessedly on a patch of wet grass and not dirt. He snatched them and found them intact. As he slammed them back on his face his world grew clear just in time to see a dark shape looming over him, hoofs sharp and gleaming.

“NO!”

Noctis came out of no-where and nothingness, his form a line of power. His gloved hand came up and he tightened his arm. A flash of brilliant white light burst from the prince. The creature hesitated, shrieking with blindness.

Noctis brought his blade up with impossible strength for a frame so small and cleaved the weapon straight up and into the beast’s neck.

Ignis gapped. He watched the spiralcorn’s head fall, detached, from it’s body. It’s weight followed with a sickening splat to the wet ground.

Prompto scrambled to Ignis, one hand digging into the older man’s arm, the other holding his weapon.

“That’s the last!” Gladio shouted as he ended the final creature some dozen meters away. “Intense!”

“You can say that again,” Prompto muttered, helping drag Ingis up from the ground. “I thought you were a goner.”

The two looked to the prince, but Noctis was already walking away, blade returned to the ether.

 

 

They took turns changing into dry clothing in the tent while Ignis struggled to light any kind of fire. Gladio had strung up a tarp from the two closest trees at a slant to provide cover from the deluge. Ignis used his flask of fira and pounded the fire ring until the moisture had hissed away and out while the tank of a man used their tarped and dry wood to coax the logs to life.

Noct emerged from the tent in flannel pajamas and his down coat, mismatched and tousled. He joined them under the tarp, frowning at the rain.

“We should cook food and then get inside,” he murmured as lightning flashed. The ground rumbled a moment later. “The storm isn’t letting up.”

“What would you like?” Ignis asked, dragging the cooler a little closer to the fire.

Noctis blinked. His brow furrowed in thought.

“I – what can you make again?” He hesitated and shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean – what do you have in stock?”

Ignis narrowed his eyes. Noctis usually kept tight attention on their inventory, as eating was one of his favorite daily events.

“Somethin’ easy,” Gladio stated. “Sooner it’s done the better.”

Prompto popped up beside Noctis, his hair fluffed but still engaged in a mighty battle against moisture.

“Don’t we have some leftover curry stuff? Why not just reheat that? Easy!”

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “You just want more curry. We had it last night!”

“That’s fine,” Noctis nodded, pointing to the cooler. “Let’s just do that.”

 

Ignis lay awake late into the night. The lantern was on, but low, casting gentle shadows over the tarped landscapes of the tent. Gladio was out cold, first to go, snores drowned out by the thunder and rainfall. Prompto had been noodling on his phone and had dropped it to his chest where he cradled it in his sleep.

Noctis was beside Ignis, curled away from them. He couldn’t tell if the prince was asleep or awake or somewhere in-between.

The strategist sighed, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. Not for any one reason, but there was something strange to the day they’d had. The energy was different. Noctis had acted different.

He supposed everyone was allowed to have an off-day every now and then. He replaced his glasses and looked back down to his notebook, returning his focus to their inventories.

A few pages into his calculations, a sound from Noctis pulled him from his work. A deep, stuttering breath, then nothing, then a soft, broken groan.

Frowning, he rested his notebook aside and turned to investigate. Just as his fingertips touched the prince’s shoulder blade Noct flinched, twisting, rearing up with harsh breaths.

“Noct!” Ignis called, surprised at the look of terror in the young man’s wild eyes. They glowed purple – the color of magic. Powerful magic.

“No, No please,” the young man moaned into the faint light, barely audible over the rain. He was disoriented, and panicked – a nightmare?

Ignis twisted and grasped the prince’s shoulders, his fingers digging into his soft sleep shirt.

“Noct, it’s me, you’re alright,” he soothed. “It’s not real.”

The Lucin froze, eyes locking on Ignis’s face. His eyes returned to their natural blue but remained wide, wild.

“Ignis? You - You can see me?”

Ignis frowned. “Of course I can see you. I’m wearing my glasses.”

Noctis’s focus turned inward and they stayed that way for a long moment. The prince spoke quietly, his voice cracking.

“Of course. I’m sorry.” His spine liquefied and the tension left his limbs as he sank a few inches back towards the ground and turned his face away, towards the tent.

“Noct.”

Ignis didn’t hear but felt the tiny snap of a sob in the prince’s shoulder. The young man shuddered and attempted to still himself.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. “I’m fine. It will be fine. This – this is-”

“Noct,” Ignis tried again, inching closer. “What’s wrong?”

There was another moment of uncertainty. Was he ill? Had he taken ill during the chill of the storm? Did they have any medicines? Perhaps an antidote would do –

Noct shifted, muscles stuttering, trembling, and then he was in Ignis’s chest, his face hidden and buried, hands clinging desperate and hard, fisting the fabric above the strategist’s ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, open mouthed, painful, brow pressing hard into Ignis’s collar bone.

Momentarily paralyzed from the unexpected intrusion of personal space, Ignis swallowed and slowly brought his hands down on the young man’s shoulder blades. This caused a violent reaction and he could feel Noctis’s whole body seize with the intensity of his silent crying.

Grief. It was powerful, tremendous, suffering grief, Ignis realized.

“Sorry for Regis? Noct, no,” the older man struggled to parse the cause of the sudden monsoon of emotions his prince endured. “There was nothing you could have done, anyone could have done-”

“I know,” he gasped, curling tight upon himself, small against the cave of Ignis’s flank. “It’s not – I can’t-”

Thunder roared, drowning out whatever else the prince tried to say. At a loss, Ignis simply tightened his hands around Noct’s back, affirming his presence.

The prince said nothing else, his body trembling with tension once more. Ignis was reminded of a time many years ago when Noctis was just a small boy. When he’d left Lady Lunafreya behind. When he cried so hard Ignis had thought the boy would shatter from the same silent sobs.

And so he did now what he’d done then. He began to move, subtle, slow rocking while he calmed himself, calmed his voice.

“It’s alright,” he promised. “You’re alright.”

Over and over he repeated the words until they were a mantra, meaningless, an avenue of comfort.

Ignis’s mind relaxed, his thoughts softening as he repeated the motions. He tried to pinpoint exactly where the event of the day had come to cause such a reaction. Or perhaps it was the dream – what had he experienced? What could shake the prince so badly?

He realized that some time had passed and Noct had calmed, his breathing returning to something more stable. His hands relaxed their grip on Ignis’s shirt, resting limp and shifting with each breath the advisor took.

Unsure if Noctis was asleep but if so, not wanting to wake him, Ignis slowly shifted downwards, his spine hissing in protest at the uncomfortable pose he’d endured. At last his back returned to the pile of gear and pillows he’d been using to rest against and he sighed, languishing in the relief from his muscles. Noct hadn’t budged, a fixture tucked into his side. Ignis eyed the lantern. It was down by Gladio’s feet and impossible to reach. So be it.

The thunder tapered off and Ignis found himself drifting. At first he thought he dreamed it, but then he realized Noct was speaking, quietly.

“There will come a time,” the prince said, his voice scratchy and muffled by Ignis’s chest, “Where the world is too dark, and the weight of duty is too much.” He lifted his head, his eyes stained magenta again. Ignis snapped back to wakefulness – he could feel power thrumming through Noct’s very being.

“You've always been there for me, Ignis. Even when," he paused, shuddered, "Even when you got hurt. Promise me you’ll be there, like this, before I go. I don’t think I can do it if you don’t.”

His eyes – was he dreaming again? A waking dream? Ignis had no idea what the prince was talking about. But he was never one to deny Noctis anything, even if he didn’t understand what was required.

“Of course, Noct. Whatever you need.”

The prince closed his eyes and bowed his head a little. When he opened them again, the ocean blue had returned.

“I know. That’s why – it’s so hard.”

The prince returned his brow to the tuck of Ignis’s shoulder and neck. The advisor said nothing more, the rain filling the silence of the tent as Noct’s body loosened against him into rest.

Ignis’s thoughts would occasionally return to that night, and the strange message the prince relayed to him.

It wasn’t until ten years later, on the final night of Noct’s life, did he realize the weight of those words.

Realized what Umbra could do for the Prince, the power of time and travel.

And then, in the sterile underground subway rest stop, when the others had fallen to exhaustion, Ignis, feeling his way to Noct’s bunk, dropped his weight beside his prince, and allowed himself to be cherished, grieved, and held once last time.

 


End file.
